


The Charmed Life Of Harry Potter

by bafflinghaze



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ace spectrum Draco, Ace spectrum Harry, Auror-in-training Harry, Cinderella Elements, Fluff, Harry Potter as Cinderella, M/M, Masquerade, Mentions of Veela, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Unspeakable-in-training Draco, Wixes - gender neutral term for mages in the HP universe, friends first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 00:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16252646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bafflinghaze/pseuds/bafflinghaze
Summary: There’s a veela in town and they’re hosting a masquerade ball in search for a partner. Anyone who wants to come is invited.But that’s the furthest thing from Harry’s mind: he has coursework and third year Auror group cases to do while his teammates sit around talking about the ball. Anyway, who needs a veela partner when you have Draco Malfoy randomly appearing in your house bearing new clothes and delicious food on odd days?





	The Charmed Life Of Harry Potter

**Author's Note:**

> This has been betaed by [KristinaBird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kristinabird) :) and is based on the [HP AO3 Tag Challenge: Harry Potter as Cinderella](http://phoenix-acid.tumblr.com/post/177705200962/drarry-discord-hp-ao3-tag-challenge-collection).

Harry tries not to sigh when he hears Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen chatting about the upcoming masquerade ball instead of working on their assigned Auror case. It’s been a _month_ since the open invitation came out, and yet Smith and McLaggen still have things to say about what spells they’re going to use to narrow down the veela amongst the masquerade, how they’re going to seduce the veela, and how amazing their life would be with a veela partner.

“It’s faster if you just do it,” Smith says, when Harry asks about their group case. “We’re all mates, here.”

“Zach and I need to go the gym,” McLaggen says. “It’s hard work staying this handsome.”

He thinks about asking them to at least _read_ the case file, but when he looks at them, they get up to leave, speaking pointedly about what they’re going to wear tonight.

Harry sighs, and thinks about leaving it for Monday, when Williamson drops into their office.

“I want that case done by tonight,” he says. “Make sure you do it.”

Harry sits up straighter in his seat. “Yes, sir.”

Williamson gives a narrowed-eye smile. “You can’t become an Auror with just good luck,” he says a little ominously, and leaves.

It has been almost three years since Harry started Auror training; almost three years since he was assigned to a mentor group consisting of Senior Auror Williamson and fellow trainees Smith and McLaggen; and almost three years of Harry covering for Smith and McLaggen whilst following WIlliamson’s only-strict-on-Harry demands.

But there’s no one Harry can _really_ talk to about this: both Ron and Hermione are too busy with their respective jobs. And it’s not that bad anyway, he doesn’t want to worry them.

And Harry _can_ be patient. He can tell himself that Williamson’s demands are not nearly as bad as the long work hours Head Auror Robards subjects to the fully fledged Aurors and that Williamson’s demands are good practice. He can tell himself that by doing all his coursework _and_ all the group work makes Harry a better Auror, and it will be Smith and McLaggen who will fail the qualifying exams at the end of the three year training.

Harry conjures up some fresh hot water for his mug and plops in one of the black tea bags from the box on his desk. He casts a strong lumos, and bends over, forcing himself to read the words in the case file.

***

It’s late by the time Harry gets back to Grimmauld Place. The lights are on, and Draco Malfoy sprawls on his sofa looking rather at home. Harry’s too tired to muster any emotion, instead ignoring him as he sheds his trainee robes onto the empty sofa. When Draco doesn’t say anything, Harry heads to the kitchen to find something to eat.

Harry’s munching through a pickle sandwich when Draco appears in the kitchen.

“Why are you back so late?” he demands. “It’s not because of _them_ , is it?”

Harry chews and swallows. He takes another bite, then says with his mouth full, because he can, “Auror training work.”

Draco comes over and puts a hand on the table. “The ball of the year—if not the century—is tonight,” he says. He glares at Harry’s sandwich. “Put that away; there’ll be food at the event.”

Harry shrugs. “Wasn’t planning on going, none of my friends are. And it’s too late, anyway.” He blinks uncomprehendingly when Draco holds out a potion.

“Wide-eye. Drink it,” Draco says. “Next, stand up. I took it upon myself to acquire something suitable for you just in case.”

Harry takes the potion and downs it, immediately feeling more alert. “This would have been more helpful if you gave it to me a few hours ago.”

Draco wrinkles his nose. “I couldn’t believe that your mentor Auror would force you to stay late. Now stand up.”

“It’s not like that, I didn’t have to,” Harry says, grudging getting to his feet. “What now?”

Draco draws his wand and points it at Harry. “Close your eyes and don’t move.”

With a tingle and a twinkle of magic, the clothes on Harry’s body fade away as new clothes fade in. He tries not to twitch when his glasses change into contact lenses and press against his eyes and a heavy masquerade mask settles across the top half of his face.

Harry opens his eyes, and even _he_ can appreciate the utter softness of the robes, their golden colour and the delicate patterns that swirl across them.

Draco has an odd look on his face, even as he nods. “Good. Now, off you go.”

“Why?”

Draco scowls. “You should socialise.”

Harry frowns, and Draco’s expression quickly changes to something more exasperated.

“Just go and see, and then come back. Maybe you’ll even have a chance with the veela.”

Harry shakes his head. “I have no idea who they are, so no thanks. Are you going to be there?”

Draco nods. “Of course.” He hands Harry the invitation. “Now off you go.” At that, Draco disapparates away—even though only Harry’s supposed to be able to disapparate through the wards around Grimmauld Place.

It’s been almost three years since Draco started greeting Harry whenever they crossed paths in the Ministry. And it’s been over a year since Draco started appearing in Harry’s house, despite the fact that Harry hadn’t adjusted the wards. He has no official idea what Draco does—he never gives a straight answer when Harry asks, ergo, Draco’s unofficially an Unspeakable, or at least one in training given Draco’s complaints about teachers in the recent past.

With nothing better to do, and not wanting Draco to come back looking for a missing Harry when he’s tucked in bed, Harry reads the floo address on the invitation and goes.

***

Draco was not lying about the food, Harry thinks. The ball is beautiful enough, and there are beautiful people in beautiful clothes _everywhere_ , but Harry heads immediately to the long, long tables of food and starts eating. It’s not like anyone will know him, what with his mask and all.

He looks around as he eats, idly wondering who the veela is. He can’t feel any allure drawing him in any specific direction, and now that he has been observing the others for a while, they seem just as clueless. There is no pattern to their movements, and some are unsubtly staring down every person they come across. He spots two figures who are _definitely_ Smith and McLaggen, and they’re casting revealing spells, albeit poorly.

“Better than a sandwich,” comes a voice.

Harry almost chokes on his canape when a wizard in robes the exact same shade as Draco’s hair comes up to him. He’s about to retort when Draco’s finger rests over his mouth.

“No names,” Draco says, mouth pulling into a familiar smirk.

“Let me finish eating so I can leave,” Harry says.

“The wide-eye I gave you will keep you up til midnight,” Draco says, one eye winking through his mask, which has feathers spreading from its edges and over his head.

“Then maybe I can do more work,” Harry suggests.

Draco presses a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Have you seen the gardens?” he asks pointedly.

“Ugh, fine.” Clearly this entire thing has been a ploy: Draco hadn’t wanted to go the ball by himself and so he forced Harry along too.

Harry’s somewhat mollified when Draco conjures up a very large container and starts putting food in it. Harry helps, giggling madly as they steal food and run off to the gardens behind the ballroom.

There are numerous others in the gardens, but Draco leads Harry further and further until it’s just them.

“We looked _really_ suspicious,” Harry says, laughing. “I hope the veela doesn’t mind all the food we took.”

“There was more than enough food to feed an army,” Draco says primly.

They find a bench, and Harry sits down to eat, the container between them. Draco picks out a canape, and lazily casts suspended lumos charms around them. After a few minutes, Harry stops eating, and watches curiously as the flowers around them open up their petals towards the light.

Harry huffs a laugh. “You’re so attention seeking! Even the flowers!”

Draco languidly turns his head, smiling. “Even you.”

Harry shakes his head in disbelief. “Have you been here before? I’m completely lost.”

“I thought you’re meant to be an Auror,” Draco teases.

Harry reaches over and pushes Draco’s shoulder. “I trusted you!” he says dramatically. “Do you at least know who the veela is?”

Draco hums noncommittally. “Your Auror training is almost over. Are you ready to play with the big wixes?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Yes, thanks, I know. And what about your unspeakable training? Cat got your tongue about it?”

Draco sits up. “Actually…” he says, and produces two arm braces. “I’ve been perfecting these. For you.”

“What for?” But Harry takes them anyway. They’re warm in Harry’s hands, but he doesn’t understand the point of them. Auror training has been drilling him hard to cast rather than fight physically.

“If you put them on, they’ll cast basic shield armour around your body,” Draco says. “You’ll need them once you become a real Auror.”

Harry places them on his lap. “You’re not making them for all the other Auror trainees.”

Draco scoffs. “And why would I? I either want them to injure themselves, or they are too skilled to need these. I’ve seen the way you fight, Potter. The Healers will thank me for this.”

Harry blinks and slowly tucks the arm braces away. “I’m going to ignore the fact that you want some of the auror trainees hurt and thank you. It’s surprisingly thoughtful. And nice to see you doing something other than breaking through people’s wards.”

“I could stop,” Draco says, his voice a little _too_ light to be casual.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t mind,” he says, then wrinkles his nose at what he just said. “I...actually seem to like your company. That’s _really_ weird.”

Harry puts his hand across his chin, trying to think back to when that first happened. But Draco’s been by so often, Harry can’t pin down a date. In fact, he probably sees Draco as much as Ron and Hermione, albeit in numerous short stretches of time versus long whole-day affairs.

“At least I don’t have to go clothes shopping anymore. I’m pretty sure you’re slowly replacing my entire wardrobe. Ginny even complimented me on the sweater. She said it matched my eyes perfectly.” Harry gives Draco a sidelong look, smirking. “Been staring at my eyes, Malfoy?”

“They stand out,” Draco sniffs. “Would you rather I look at your chest when I speak to you instead of your face? Are you going to eat any more?”

Harry shakes his head. Draco shrinks the container to the size of the remaining food and conjures a lid. Harry casts a preservation charm over it all, shrinks the container and tucks it inside his pocket along with the arm braces.

“That’s my breakfast sorted,” Harry says cheerfully. “Now can I go?”

“You’ve _barely_ seen the gardens,” Draco says, standing up and dragging Harry up with him. The lumos spheres follow them as they head further down the garden path. “And you still need to tell me what you’re currently learning.”

“Why don’t _you_ tell me how you’re able to apparate through anti-apparition wards?” Harry pokes.

“I need to first assess your curse-breaking skills,” Draco says primly. “Suppose you came across a locked door that shimmers at the corner of your eye. When you cast a revealing charm, a isometric pattern of rose-gold lines appear across the door. What would you do?”

“Cast a blasting charm,” Harry says, grinning.

Draco goes to slap Harry on the back of the head, but Harry ducks, grinning even wider.

“It’s fine, I’ll have your arm braces. The blasting charm would be faster,” Harry says.

“Try again,” Draco says, though his expression has softened.

After Harry stops laughing under his breath, he thinks properly. It won’t hurt to answer Draco properly, and it’s going to help him on his Auror exams. Plus Draco might even slip some obscure unspeakable knowledge or alternative method, which he is wont to do—Draco likes the tell Harry how _he_ would do it better.

With Hermione studying up the obscurities of law, Ron at the joke shop, and the other Auror trainees not that close to Harry, Draco’s the best study partner Harry could have, Harry suddenly realises. He quickly puts that at the back of his mind, since Draco looks like he has half a mind to slap Harry again. He studies the surrounding plants for inspiration.

He slowly begins his answer, “I would cast the revealing charm again alongside an image capture charm to study the pattern...”

***

A shot of tiredness hits Harry as the wide-eye potion wears off. He stops walking and rubs his eyes, knocking his mask back.

Draco casts a _tempus_ : it’s 11.59.

Harry rubs his eyes again, and his contact lenses turn back into glasses.

“Go home,” Draco says.

“Where’s the way back?” Harry asks. They’d been walking around for a while, and Harry’s completely lost.

Draco’s brow furrows for a second, then says, “You can apparate from here.”

Harry grins tiredly. “Your unspeakable magic again? Thanks.” He’s about to turn, and adds, “I’ll see again, whenever you decide to pop up.”

Draco throws him a two fingered salute, and Harry does it right back before he apparates back home.

***

On Monday morning, there’s a whole crowd of Aurors hanging outside the Head Auror Office.

Harry has no idea why anyone would want to be there, and trudges to the office space he shares with Smith and McLaggen. Unfortunately, Smith and McLaggen are there, which is unusual since it means that they are actually on time.

“Hey, Potter,” Smith says.

Harry’s head jerks up. _Speaking to me now?_ he thinks, but says, “Morning Smith, McLaggen.”

Smith smirks. “Did you hear the news? Apparently the veela found their partner at the ball.”

Harry nods but says nothing more, heading to his desk. He was out in the gardens with Draco nearly all night; he definitely wouldn’t have seen the veela, nor their mate.

McLaggen stops him, leaning in. “However, the wix disappeared at the 12th strike of midnight, leaving behind only a mask. On behalf of the veela, their family and friends have been searching for their mate! And word is, Robards is going assign the search case to a lucky Auror team.”

Harry leans back away from McLaggen. “So that’s why everyone’s hanging around his office. Why aren’t you two?”

At that, Smith chuckles. “It won’t do to have the Aurors on the case be the veela’s partner, does it? That mask is _definitely_ mine.”

“No, it’s _mine_ ,” McLaggen says. “I left at midnight.”

Harry leaves them to argue and starts on the pile of coursework. Veela or no veela, the third year Auror trainees will have a curse-breaking lecture later in the day and Harry’d like to get his current assignments done before he gets given even _more_. Not to mention that Smith and McLaggen would later demand to look at Harry’s work.

***

Harry finds Draco lounging on his sofa again when he returns home. Though, this time, there’s food laid out on the coffee table.

“You’re back again soon,” Harry says, taking off his robes. He conjures a short chair and sits by the coffee table, across from Draco.

“And _you_ came back late again,” Draco says, sighing and flopping back over the arm of the sofa. “It’s been absolutely exhausting. My parents have been extremely irritating.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums noncommittally as he eats. He swallows and says, “Is that why you’re here bothering me? You _could_ just find a flat in London.”

Draco rolls his eyes and sits up, helping himself to some food as well. “And deprive myself of your outstanding company? Never. Is your Auror training _that_ difficult?”

“The Aurors have all been interested in this mask, and that veela,” Harry says. “I don’t think I ever saw them. Did you?”

“Perhaps,” Draco says. “The ball was a stupid idea anyway. How could anyone decide their partner after chatting to them for only a couple of hours? Less, if they were expected to speak to everyone in attendance.”

Harry shrugs. He can’t imagine it either. “The food and the gardens were nice, though.”

Draco props an elbow on his leg and leans onto his hand. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“I’ll give you one question, in exchange for this food,” Harry says innocently.

Draco snorts, but then asks, “Potter, why don’t _you_ have a partner? You don’t appear to be looking for one either.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat for some unknown reason. “I don’t know…” he trails off, thinking back. “Between Auror training on the weekdays, seeing my friends and the Weasleys and Teddy on the weekends, and keeping _you_ amused in-between, I suppose I haven’t felt like it.”

“There are many objectively attractive auror trainees,” Draco says. “Quite a few have symmetrical faces and fashion sense—their only flaw being that they want to be Aurors.”

“Ha-ha,” Harry says drily. “The other trainees are about sex and friends with benefits.”

“You’re a little romantic wizard at heart,” Draco says, a smile playing across his lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Harry says. “I don’t see _you_ with a partner either, given how often you break in here.”

Draco’s lips twist. “I have my eye on someone,” he says, looking at Harry. “I just haven’t been Gryffindor enough to ask.”

“Who?” Harry asks, more sharply than he intends. Something tightens in Harry’s chest at the thought of Draco leaving him to spend time with a partner. He can already feel the pain of missing these dinners with Draco.

Draco continues looking at Harry. And continues looking at Harry.

Harry sucks in a breath, leaning back. “ _Wait a minute_ ,” Harry says. “Me?!”

Draco stays silent for a beat longer, then nods, smiling wryly. “You’ve been the only one since we met, one way or another.”

“Right.” Harry tries not to think about the implications, about how long Draco’s held this in his chest.

“After your answer, I believe that we _are_ compatible,” Draco says.

“What, that you’re a romantic as well?”

Draco wrinkles his nose. “Yes, unfortunately. And about sex, or disinterest thereof.”

“I mean, it’s not that I can’t, or won’t. Maybe... have to think about it,” Harry says, just saying words.

Draco nods like he knows all and more than what Harry knows. “Perhaps you don’t fancy me yet, but if you allow me to date you for at least a week.”

In this conversation Harry hasn’t had the time for deep contemplation. “I guess…”

“Do you like the new clothes I pick for you? Do you like the food? Do you like the places I’ve taken you?” Draco asks, rapid-fire.

“That masquerade was only alright,” Harry says, to annoy Draco.

“A week,” Draco repeats. “Starting now.”

A week of free dinners, Harry thinks. A week of Draco. It doesn’t sound bad, and they’re both adults. Surely they can navigate through this fine. “Alright,” Harry agrees.

Draco suddenly smiles, bright and relieved, and Harry smiles back. Making friends and family happy has always made Harry happy.

“Good,” Draco says, “Since I bought roses for your dining table, and it’ll be peculiar if we weren’t dating.”

Harry glances at the coffee table with it’s half-eaten food. “So _that’s_ why you laid out the food on the coffee table instead of doing it all proper.”

Draco’s smile turns guilty. He stands up and levitates the food. “Let’s go to your proper dining table,” he says primly, extending a hand to Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes. He groans as he stretches out his legs, and pulls heavily on Draco to stand him up. “Lead the way, partner,” he says with an American accent.

Draco just looks at him and turns towards the dining room.

***

Harry doesn’t quite understand Draco’s definition of dating, though it’s certainly not unenjoyable. The thought of having to entertain Draco every night after training sounds grueling—especially when he should be studying—but in reality, it’s not.

They eat out in Muggle Paris on Tuesday night. The next night, it’s dinner at Grimmauld Place, with food Harry eventually discovers is from the Malfoy house-elves. On Wednesday, Draco takes him to see an orchestra that plays both classical and modern pieces. Thursday, they _go flying_ over the dark British countryside. And after dinner, they sit in Grimmauld Place’s library, _both_ studying their own coursework, and Harry is surprised at just how motivating it is to see Draco studying too. Knowing that Draco awaits him keeps Harry calm throughout the day, no matter what Williamson is making him do, or what Smith and McLaggen are up to. Even better, boxed lunches ‘suddenly’ appear on Harry’s kitchen table in the morning before he heads out, providing a welcome change to the slop from the Ministry canteen.

Most interestingly, this increase in Draco-time feels extremely natural.

But Harry does wonder whether Draco is interested in doing more, given their conversation. There was no arm around his shoulder at the orchestra; no flights on the same broom. They didn’t even sit close enough to touch while eating or studying. But there’s a twitch in Harry’s hands, his fingers.

And Harry wonders whether _Harry_ should do anything more. On Friday night, he _thinks_ about inviting Draco to stay the night. But to do what, Harry doesn’t know, and so he doesn’t say anything.

***

Monday arrives with a flurry of due-in assignments and a flurry of new assignments to do. After once again letting Smith and McLaggen look at Harry’s work, they make him deliver their assignments to the auror trainee overseer. When Harry gets back to their shared office space, Smith and McLaggen are gone, and so is the packed lunch from Draco. He stares at his work pile, but doesn’t quite feel like it yet, so instead decides to have an early lunch.

Harry groans inwardly when he sees a huge crowd on Level One. Harry had hopes to grab some food from the Ministry canteen early before the usual lunchtime rush. But instead, there’s a really long, winding line.

A memo hits the back of Harry’s head, and he takes it. It’s an interdepartmental memo, telling all those who attended the veela’s ball to line up on Level One.

Harry eyes the line. It’s long, it’ll take ages. But the memo is rather specific about _all_ those who attended the ball.

“Potter!” someone says.

Harry turns around as Smith, McLaggen and Williamson emerge from the lift. He tries not to cringe and hopes that in the public setting, they’ll hold their tongues.

“What are you doing here?” Williamson asks lowly. “You didn’t go to the ball. You’re behind, Potter. You need to work harder.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry demures.

Smith gives an impatient toss of his head. “Come on, let’s _go_.”

Williamson turns back to Smith and McLaggen. “I’ll take you to the front of the line, as a senior Auror,” he says, the three of them walking away.

Harry vanishes the memo and heads over to the Ministry canteen, bypassing the long lines of people waiting. A little curious, he glances to the front of the line.

Pansy Parkinson is there...as well as Draco. Parkinson’s handing a mask to the person at the front of the line, which they put on. Draco shakes his head and Parkinson takes the mask back, casting a cleaning charm on it while the rejected person walks away. Williamson, Smith and McLaggen are next in line, clearly having successfully pushed their way in.

At that precise moment, Draco looks up and spies Harry.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues to the canteen. Except there’s no staff there—they’re all in line.

With a groan, Harry turns back, and is taken aback when he sees both Draco and Williamson rapidly approaching him. He takes step back.

Williamson gets to him first. “What are you still doing here?”

“I just wanted some lunch,” Harry says.

“What are you doing here?” Draco also asks. “I gave you a packed lunch today!”

“It went missing,” Harry says pointedly.

“You weren’t meant to be here,” Draco says, glancing behind him. “I had put a tracking on charm on your lunch.” He casts a quick charm and frowns. “What’s Smith doing with it?”

Parkinson is fast advancing upon them with the mask in hand, and trailing behind her are Smith and McLaggen, calling for her to stop.

Williamson turns to Draco. “Why don’t you go back to testing the mask for the veela?”

Draco ignores Williamson. “Go,” he tells Harry. “Before Pansy—”

“Don’t move!” Parkinson calls out.

Draco’s shoulders slump. “Let’s go out for lunch after Pansy’s done,” he sighs.

“Er, alright…” Harry trails off when Williamson gives him a sharp look.

Parkinson holds out the unfamiliar mask. “Is this yours? Have you ever seen this before?”

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t remember seeing the mask Draco had given him, and after he’d taken off the fancy robes, everything had disappeared. He assumes the mask had vanished too.

“Put it on, Potter,” she orders.

“Why?” Harry asks.

“He wasn’t at the ball,” Williamson says. “But my two other auror third years, Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen, were there—”

Parkinson’s lip curls. “Was I speaking to you?” She turns to Harry and all but shoves the mask onto Harry’s face.

“Ow!” Harry says as his glasses get pressed into his face—and then they’re transforming into contact lenses as his auror-trainee robes turn into soft golden robes.

A hush falls upon the entirety of Level One.

Draco grabs Harry’s hand. “Let’s go.” Harry feels the familiar tug of apparition and abruptly lands back right at the same place. Williamson’s gotten Harry’s other arm and Parkinson’s gotten Draco’s other arm.

“You’re not going until you explain yourself,” Williamson growls.

“You’re not going anywhere until you admit Potter’s your veela mate, Draco,” Parkinson says triumphantly.

Williamson turns sharply to Parkinson, letting go of Harry. “ _Mate_? Isn’t it enough that Potter’s the saviour? Isn’t it enough that the Minister eats out of his hand? But to be a _veela’s mate_ as well?!”

Harry’s arms are both occupied, so he cannot take off the mask. “Draco?” he says, mind trying to think. “What the hell is happening? I only talked to you.”

Draco winces. “I’m the veela,” he admits. “My parents threw the ball anonymously because they wanted me to find someone who’d trigger my allure.”

“Then why are you dating me?”

Parkinson pushes Draco towards Harry. “Go on, say it, Draco,” she threatens.

Draco shots her a glare. “Because you’re the only one I want. I told you. And since you’re some flavour of asexual, and I’m some flavour of asexual, of _course_ my allure wouldn’t be lust-based. My parents and _friends_ won’t listen,” Draco adds, pointedly glaring at Parkinson.

Parkinson smirks and steps back. “My work here is done.” She shoots a sharp look at Smith, McLaggen and Williamson. “Draco’s found his mate. So _scram_ ,” she tells them.

“But—” Smith splutters, “I didn’t even get to try the mask!”

“Potter’s not handsome enough!” McLaggen adds.

Parkinson draws her wand, and the two stop coming closer.

“Oh,” Harry says to Draco. “Luna once said I might be demisexual, but I forgot.”

Draco lifts the mask from Harry’s face and his glasses return to normal but his robes don’t.

“Now let’s go have lunch. And see if you can get transferred away from Auror Williamson,” Draco adds, glaring at Williamson. He throws the mask between Smith and McLaggen, and both crash into each other as they try to catch it. “I don’t think either of them realise that they’re trying to get into _my_ pants,” he mutters. “They both hate me on a good day.”

Parkinson’s now heading back to the line of waiting Ministry workers. “Go away!” she shouts at them. “It’s over!”

“But you must have some kind of allure,” Harry puzzles.

“It’s too subtle for _you_ , Mr. I-can-throw-off-an-imperio,” Draco retorts. “Can we stop talking about this in _public_? I feel dirty with Williamson watching.” Draco’s arms are suddenly around Harry in a hug, and they’re disapparating through the Ministry’s Anti-Apparition Wards and onto an empty alleyway in Muggle London.

“They’re going to make the wards stronger now,” Harry points out, trying not to think about Draco’s arms around him. “And I didn’t know you were French. Or a veela.”

“ _Technically_ , the Malfoys came from France. The veela thing...happens. I _told_ you that I was a romantic.” Draco transfigures their robes into muggle coats and heads out into the main street.

Harry’s brow furrows. “So your allure makes people want to romance you? Like, do they suddenly have the urge to give you food and take you the orchestra?”

Draco has a long suffering look, and Harry laughs.

“That’s the best!” Harry says in-between laughter. The muggles are looking at him, but Harry finds it hard to stop.

“You liked them,” Draco says sulkily. He heads into a restaurant and they take a table.

“The orchestra was only alright,” Harry says. “You should have taken me to the movies instead.”

“I was _trying_ to make you cultured,” Draco mutters, lifting up the menu. He orders for them both, despite Harry’s protests that there is English under the Italian. Harry can already tell that Draco’s going to pay for both of them.

“Will anything _bad_ happen to you or your veela side if I leave you?” Harry wonders.

Draco looks at him drily. “I would hope you’d stay. I’ll be heartbroken, listless, and slowly fade away…” Draco now has a hand over his heart, eyes gazing into the far distance.

Harry scoffs under a smile. “No you won’t.”

“Perhaps in another universe I _would_ ,” Draco says archly. “No, more likely, I’d make your life living hell instead.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah, that sounds more like you.”

Draco straightens. “It’s six hours to the week. It’s time for me to renew my dating-Harry-Potter license. Do you find me sufficient?”

“Was that _everything_ you wanted to do? Is it going to be like that every week?”

“Of course not!” Draco says immediately. “There’s more—” He stops, and gives Harry a piercing look. “What do _you_ want to do?”

Harry fiddles with his napkin. “You virtually never touch me,” he mumbles. “It makes you feel distant, even when we’re together.”

Draco’s eyes sweep down, bashful. “I wasn’t sure you’d accept it.” His eyes lift and a hand extends across the table. “Give me your hand,” he demands.

Harry smiles fondly despite himself as he realises this is how Draco hides his insecurities. Harry gives him his hand, resting it over Draco’s. Draco’s hand is warm and dry and alive. Harry caresses the palm, the fingers, and Draco’s hand trembles. When Harry looks up, he sees a blush on Draco’s face, and a rush of _oh_ and _yes_ goes through Harry.

“Did you want my hand in marriage?” Harry asks, winking boldly.

Draco’s mouth drops.

Harry laughs. He stops when the waiter brings them their food, and after one more caress, Harry takes his hand back to eat.

“Eventually,” Draco finally says.

Harry nods. “How about children? I wouldn’t mind adopting a few, if our jobs become stable enough.”

Draco shudders. “If they’re old enough, I wouldn’t mind.”

Harry laughs. “And retirement? Are we going to do that together too?”

“Ideally, yes. I’d like retire to southern France. Good food and good weather,” Draco says primly.

“We’ll have to come back to England to visit family and friends every so often,” Harry muses.

Draco nods. “Of course. We’ll be very fit old wizards. Travel will be easy.” His serious facade holds for another second, then he cracks a smile.

That leads to Harry grinning. “Damn, look at us, discussing _retirement_.”

“ _You_ started it,” Draco pouts. “I’m much too young and handsome to think about _that_.” Draco goes right back to eating, putting on an air of ignoring Harry.

Harry would believe it, if Draco’s foot isn’t nudging his under the table like a _kid_.

***

When they finish, Harry declines dessert, and Draco predictably pays.

“I really should get back,” Harry says. He blinks when Draco holds out his hand.

“I’m apparating,” Draco says, exasperated.

Harry wraps his arm around Draco’s waist instead, which turns out to be the best to stop Harry from falling at the end of the apparition...right back in Harry’s office space.

“ _Draco!_ You went right through the Ministry Wards _again_!” Harry notices that Draco isn’t stepping away from his arm.

“You seemed to be in a hurry,” Draco says unapologetically. He looks around and his lip curls. “How drab and dreary. You share a space with Smith and McLaggen.”

In fact, Smith and McLaggen are _right there_.

“You’re not a _veela_ ,” Smith says sharply, glaring at Draco.

Meanwhile, McLaggen’s running his eyes over Draco’s body. “You’re pretty enough to be one,” he leers.

Draco throws his hands out and both Smith and McLaggen flinch back. “If this were a fairytale, you two would either be forced to become Harry’s servants. Or we’d kill you and feed you to Williamson under the pretense of beef,” Draco says, clearly enjoying Smith and McLaggen’s disgusted and horrified expressions.

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry warns.

“You should become an unspeakable,” Draco says grumpily. “That way, you can kill these two when they least suspect it.”

“I _wouldn’t!_ ” Harry says loudly. “Sorry,” he says to Smith and McLaggen. “I’ll be back soon.” Harry bodily drags Draco away to a thankfully empty meeting room.

“They’re probably _trashing_ my stuff back there!” Harry says sharply.

Draco capitulates, slightly. “I cast a shield over your area when you weren’t looking.”

Harry sighs and shakes his head. “It’s a good thing you’re _not_ an auror. And that I’m not an unspeakable.”

“That’s why I need you to keep me in check,” Draco says silkily. “And you need me to help you do extraordinary things like apparating through Wards.” He smirks, drawing Harry’s eyes to his lips.

“Kiss me,” Harry says recklessly. “If I find it satisfactory, then we’ll continue dating.”

Draco’s tongue darts out. “Very well,” he whispers, pressing up against Harry.

Harry embraces him as Draco’s hands cradle Harry’s face. Harry’s lips come to life as Draco’s presses against his, soft and textured and unfamiliar—for now.

There’s no hurry. There’s no rush. There’s only gentle exploration on both parts.

Something in Harry’s chest tightens, then loosens. The tiny, itsy bitsy possessive part of him rejoices while the rest of him marvels in how normal this feels. Harry relaxes further into the kiss.

Out of nowhere, he’s struck with the sudden urge to take Draco to the orchestra. And to have a candlelit dinner while classical music plays in the background. The second one sounds alright.

Harry starts to giggle and Draco withdraws.

“ _What_?” Draco asks, lips pulling into a pout.

“I felt your allure,” Harry says, and then starts laughing properly. His tummy aches for all the laughing he’s been doing around Draco.

Draco’s pout deepens.

Harry pats Draco on the arm. “Let’s have a candlelit dinner tonight, okay?” he says, overly gentle.

Draco sniffs. “There’s nothing funny about my allure. I’ll pick tonight’s place.”

Harry feels a rush of affection for this silly, silly man. He leans in and drops a quick kiss on Draco’s cheek. “Good. Now, I _really_ have to go back to work.”

“As do I,” Draco sighs. “Even though I’m already the best…”

“My partner, so modest,” Harry teases.

They part, but only for now, for Harry says “See you later,” and they will, and they do.

*********

_Once upon a time, there was a wizard named Harry Potter who had to train to be an Auror under the jealous eyes of Senior Auror Williamson and alongside the self-centered fellow trainees Zacharias Smith and Cormac McLaggen. Poor Harry had to work three times as hard to get all their work done and received no kind words for his hard work._

_One day, big news came to Wizarding Britain. A French Veela was to host a masquerade ball to find a mate. All the young wixes in Britain were invited, and Smith and McLaggen were confident, as they both believed in their own physique and fitness._

_Now, Harry Potter had even more work to do, as Smith and McLaggen chatted and talked about the upcoming ball and busied themselves with finding the best robes possible instead of doing their work for the team. And on the very night itself, Williamson made Harry stay back to finish everything instead of leaving it to next week._

_Harry worked even harder and returned home too tired to do anything. But who should he find there but Draco Malfoy, who gave him beautiful robes and forced him to go to the masquerade ball._

_Harry partook in the food at the ball, and he and a masked Draco went for long walks in the garden. At the stroke of midnight, Harry’s mask fell off as he rubbed his eyes with tiredness. He apparated home without it, leaving Draco sad but happy at the same time—that was, before his parents descended upon him and snatched the mask that they believed to belong to his mate, the person Draco had spent the entire evening with._

_Without Draco’s consent, his family and friends dragged Draco into a search for the missing mate. When Draco refused to identify anyone, Pansy Parkinson decided that_ everyone _must try the mask and that Draco must come with her._

_Through the unfortunate luck of having his lunch taken, Harry stumbled upon the mask-trying and was forced to put the mask on. It fitted perfectly, transforming his drab robes into the beautiful, soft, golden robes he had worn on the night._

_There was a hush, then shouting as everyone realised what had happened. Draco sighed. It was too late, everyone now knew that Harry was the one._

_Draco took Harry’s hand and revealed that Draco himself was the veela. They apparated away to talk, discussing what each of them wanted. And so they agreed to be together officially, and lived happily ever after._

_Meanwhile, Smith and McLaggen failed their Auror exams and were forced to repeat, and Williamson was downgraded to desk Auror and marking the illegible assignments from the first year Auror trainees._

_The End._

*********

Draco finishes the story with a flourish of his quill.

Harry slaps Draco’s arm. “Ugh, you made it sound like a fairytale.”

“And I’ll be the prince,” Draco sings, “and you’ll be my prince…!” He swirls his wand and both of them are decked out in tunics and surcoats and cloaks and leggings and heeled boots.

Harry laughs, and laughs even more as Draco sweeps him around in dance.

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this, you might also like [Inexplicably, I Find Myself With You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6208228), which also has Cinderella elements with Draco Malfoy as Cinderella.


End file.
